Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(119)

And so they had done, then they all sat down together at the outside table, looking out over the vineyard and tearing off hunks of sourdough to pass between them as Charlie fired up the barbecue beside the barn. He and Shane fussed over the meat, while the others refilled their glasses and swapped stories as the orange sun sank lower in the sky. Eva ran through the harvested rows with Naomi’s kids, chasing and hiding from each other, while Luna lay patiently nearby and let Henry stroke her ears. Falk could see Joel and Molly up on the veranda, laughing at some elaborate story Zara and the vet were telling that seemed to require a lot of mimed actions. Possibly involving a cow, he guessed.

Falk sat beside Gemma, and they held hands under the table. They had both been a little quiet, but Falk thought so far only Rita had noticed.

Gemma had listened, her back straight and her eyes dry and hard, as he’d told her about Dwyer. Falk had come straight home from the police station, taken Gemma to their bedroom, shut the door, and explained the conversation he had just had. She had remained very still as he’d spoken, the frozen rigidity of the initial shock slowly beginning to pulse with a silent, controlled fury. She had said nothing for a long time and then finally: “What happens next?”

Falk had looked her in the eye. “What do you want to happen next?”

Gemma had sat for a long moment, then covered her face with her hands. Falk had handed her a tissue, put his arms around her, and held her, quiet and close.

“Hey.” Naomi was frowning at her phone as she came out of the vineyard house, a cold bottle of sparkling tucked under one arm and a chilled water for Shane in her other hand. “What’s going on with Rob Dwyer? Are you guys hearing about this, too?”

“I dunno. What?” Charlie said, turning over a steak.

“There’s been something going on at the station all afternoon. Apparently, he’s out.”

“Out how? He’s leaving Marralee?”

“No, out of the police completely.” Naomi’s frown deepened as she flicked through her messages. “That’s what they’re saying. Some senior people came up from Adelaide today. He’s gone back with them. Not in a good way, by the sound of it.”

“Seriously?” Charlie checked his own phone. “Can’t see that staying under wraps for too long.”

Falk ran his fingers over Gemma’s hand and felt the gentle pressure returned.

They had talked about it at length, together in the bedroom, Gemma swinging from rage and betrayal to something approaching compassion, and then back again.

“We need to tell Joel,” she’d insisted at one point, leaping to her feet. “Right now.”

“We do.” Falk had put out a steadying hand. He could hear Joel and Molly outside, their relaxed words and hushed laughter floating across the garden. “But not right now. Very soon, yes. Listen to them, though. He’s happy, she’s happy. We could let them have the weekend.”

Gemma had wavered, then eventually sat back down. “What would you do?” she’d asked quietly. “About Dwyer?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Falk had said. “It has to be your choice.”

“Yes.” She’d leaned against him. “I’d still like to know, though.”

And so he’d told her. He’d do nothing. Gemma had looked up at that in surprise, but Falk had realized something while sitting in Dwyer’s office, seeing the guilt on the man’s face and the photo of his family in front of them and the charity collection tin on the counter. Neither he nor Gemma needed to do anything more, Falk felt as sure as he could be. Dwyer would make this right on his own.

Naomi was still scrolling through her phone as she put the bottle of wine down on the outdoor table. Raco opened it up and began to pour, and Falk caught Gemma’s eye. She gave him a smile, small but real, and a mutual understanding passed between them. They would tell the others tonight, but later, when the teenagers had wandered off and the little kids had fallen asleep in front of a movie. When the evening had settled and the talk and food and company would blunt the shock.

“I guess if Dwyer’s really going, there’ll be a gap at the cop shop. Hope you’re not planning to up and leave us,” Charlie called over. “Shane’s barely recovered from the spreadsheets.”

Falk realized Charlie was talking to him. “Who, leave? Me?”

“Yes, mate. You.”

Raco laughed. “Seriously? He’s still AFP, if anything. That’s not even close to how the national structure works.”

“Whatever. Bet they wouldn’t say no, though.” Charlie grinned at Falk. “If you were keen.”

“I’m not,” Falk said.

“No?”

Falk shook his head. He sat at the table with his friends, the sun low and the food nearly ready. The day done and the vineyard stretching out beyond. He could feel Gemma’s hand in his, Luna at their feet.

“Never say never, I suppose. But no. Not now.”

This was good, now, and it was enough. He had all he wanted.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Sometimes researching a book involves huge amounts of patience, frustration, and eye-watering detail, and sometimes it involves long, glorious days basking in the lush beauty of South Australia’s wine regions. Exiles was an absolute joy to write, not least because of the setting. My sincere thanks to the many winemakers and vineyard owners, particularly in the McLaren Vale and Barossa Valley regions, who kept my glass filled so well as they offered me valuable insights into their businesses and lives in this truly gorgeous part of Australia.